


You're Still So Beautiful

by tomatoblues (junhyung)



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad Ending, kid!jonglo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10717929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junhyung/pseuds/tomatoblues
Summary: Himchan smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing Yongguk has ever seen.





	You're Still So Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: angst with sad ending, very minorly implied daddy kink

Yongguk is roused from his sleep by soft noises from the kitchen. There's a pitter-patter of something he can't really place that grows more distinct as it closes in on him, and then he feels the bed dip before something around the size of a large puppy drops himself unceremoniously onto his back.

Yongguk groans into his pillow.

The lump on his back giggles. Another giggle, this time muffled into Yongguk's neck. A warm, cozy exhale. Fresh, like a child's morning breath. Familiar.

"Junhong!" is called out from the other side of the house in a muffled yet distinctively deep rumbling voice, throat doused with a morning cup of black coffee.

Yongguk turns to lie on his back, kicking away the blanket piled under his feet and wrapping his arms around the excitedly wriggling child on his chest. He opens his eyes to a pair of bright, shining ones staring back at him in glee, right cheek indented with a tiny adorable dimple, and black hair a tousled mess. Yongguk smiles his characteristic gummy smile and Junhong—right, of course—bursts into a delighted high-pitched laughter as he presses his small hands on Yongguk's chest, weighing it down with his arms.

"What time is it?" Yongguk asks, holding back a wince at the crack in his voice. His throat feels dry. When Junhong just grins mischievously down at him, he sighs. "Go finish your food. Come on, boy."

"Junhong," is called out again, a lot closer this time, and Yongguk looks over Junhong's tiny frame to find the source of the voice leaning against the doorframe, one hand on a cocked hip. Oh, sassy. "Morning, honey," Mr. Sassy—his _husband_ —says, a soft, loving smile on his face, and Yongguk revels in the warmth that spreads in his chest, enveloping his arms around Junhong who is now lying flat on Yongguk's stomach, trying to worm himself into Yongguk's forgiving heart so he can get away with not going to kindergarten. "Get him to eat his breakfast, will you?"

Yongguk nods just to stop Himchan's nagging because he can't bear to see the pout on his— _their_ —son's face.

"Go on. Let's get you to school."

It's not without another round of comforting morning cuddles and a promise of things Himchan would definitely frown at—something along the lines of toy cars and lots of chocolates—but Junhong does go.

"Good boy," Yongguk tells him, receiving a bright beam as Junhong tumbles out of the bed and skips across the living room toward the dining table in the kitchen. "I bet mommy would be _so_ proud of you."

An exasperated huff from the kitchen that Yongguk hears clearly as he makes his way across the living room, wornout pants barely covering his ankles, pulls an amused chuckle out of him. "For the thousandth time, Yongguk, I am _not_ playing mom."

Yongguk just smiles good-naturedly, knowing fully that Himchan didn't say it out of spite. "Alright, baby."

"Oh," Himchan exclaims, biting into his bottom lip and a shine in his eyes. "I don't mind playing baby, though."

Yongguk turns, caught off-guard, and gives him a look, before sneaking a glance at Junhong who, thankfully, seems a lot more invested in picking carrots out of his fried rice than eavesdropping on his parents. Yongguk keeps in mind to call him out on it later.

Yongguk doesn't remember ever discussing any such kink with Himchan. Plus, he is in no way interested, not the slightest. He might have to set this straight.

"We—" and, oh, wait, but they did. They actually _might_ have talked about it. Maybe—no, _surely_. Yongguk is entirely sure they've come across this topic before. And the answer is, just as it was, "No."

Himchan just snorts, rolling his eyes in what Yongguk suspects is affection as he chugs down the rest of his coffee and places the empty cup in the sink.

Yongguk makes his way to the fridge, taking out a bowl of chilled black bean noodles from the previous night, and then shoving it into the microwave on low for three minutes. Meanwhile, he pours hot water into his cup and makes tea—earl grey, no sugar. When he looks to the side, hand cupping the pleasantly hot cup of tea, his eyes land on the tiny microwave they've got lying on one corner of their kitchen. It broke down just last month. Yongguk makes a mental note to get a new, better one when they visit the local department store.

Yongguk turns and is greeted by the sight of Himchan cutting up bite-sized pieces of wagyu and transferring them to their son's plate. He walks over, taking a seat opposite Himchan and smiling when one of the waiters places a plate of spaghetti aglio e olio on the table.

They're eating out today, on this lovely Saturday afternoon, and Yongguk embraces the pleasant hum on his skin as the sun shines upon them, the clouds not quite sparse for it to be scorching hot and the wind just enough that it doesn't feel the least stuffy. He looks over and watches as their son munches on his meal, unchoosily stabbing chopped carrots and green beans with his fork. His fringe falls over his face, growing long enough to almost reach his eyes, and Yongguk thinks he needs a haircut.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

What was his—his—it starts with a J, he's pretty sure...

"Jongup, what do you say we go for a haircut after this?" Himchan asks carefully, trying not to sound too obvious. Yongguk is thankful for his husband's initiative to bring up the topic, because he knows how much Jongup _hates_ having his hair cut.

"No," Jongup says, stubbornly, but smiles sweetly when Himchan gives him a pained look.

"Just a tiny bit?" Yongguk bargains, showing Jongup with his thumb and finger the small amount he's referring to.

Jongup seems to ponder, for a bit. He might be one of the shortest amongst his friends, but, God, he's growing up so fast, behaviour almost adult-like as he taps his forefinger on his chin in contemplation. Himchan watches with an amused expression on his face that he doesn't try to hide. Yongguk is just as amused, if not more.

"Okay," Jongup acquiesces, after a moment. "But," he says, eyes shifting measuredly between his dads, "can I take the taekwondo course? _All_ of my friends are attending one and I'd love to, also."

What is this taekwondo course he's—oh. "Of course," Yongguk says. "When have I ever said no to you?"

Jongup giggles when Yongguk dips down to nuzzle at the beauty mark on his nose. On the surface of the table where Yongguk's hand is resting, Himchan takes it in his and squeezes. It's warm, Himchan's palm over the back of Yongguk's hand, so familiar.

He smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing Yongguk has ever seen.  
  
  
  
  


. . .

 

 

 

Yongguk is roused from his sleep by a constant hum outside the confines of his apartment. The rain pitter-patters on his window, filling the room with its monotonous noise as water pours down the streets, staining the roads below.

Yongguk steps out of bed—the tiles are cold—and slips onto his slippers for the warmth. His wornout pants barely cover his ankles. He looks to the side. On the nightstand, the digital clock reads 7:08 A.M.

He goes to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and watches himself on the mirror, checks for any signs of acne. On his head, his hair is a tousled mess, long strands hanging threateningly low on his forehead. He needs a haircut.

Yongguk putters around the kitchen. Making tea—earl grey, no sugar—and cooking spaghetti aglio e olio. As he takes out ingredients from the fridge, he shoots a resentful glare at the ignored pile of full carrots stacked to one side of the shelf. His mom has been trying to make him eat it, but he's indignant.

He pours his meal onto a plate and water into his huge mug, placing them on the dining table. Rain is still pouring heavily, and from the large window by the kitchen, Yongguk can see the bleakness of the sky, dark and gloomy and wet. He dives his fork into his spaghetti, letting his eyes trail to the side where his phone is lying. He watches the screen as notifications flood in, from family and friends and colleagues. Beside it lies a piece of invitation, made of some sort of expensive hard paper. Plain white, with decorative swirls of gold adorning it, and words written in beautiful calligraphy.

Greetings, family names, thank you's. Venue. Date and time. Dress code—here, Yongguk wonders if he's got any beige suits in his wardrobe. Probably not.

He twirls one last mouthful of spaghetti onto his spoon and scoops it into his mouth, and turns the invitation card over. The front bears the name Kim Himchan. Shining gold letters pressed neatly onto clean, white paper.

There's the name of another beside it.

It's not Bang Yongguk.  
  
  
  
  


. . .  
  
  
  
  


_You came to me in my dreams_  
_And I knew it was a dream_  
_Still, hot tears streamed down my cheeks_  
_You're still so beautiful_

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was highly inspired by [highlight - it's still beautiful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3w0pASQrIoI). the title and lyrics at the end are also from the song.


End file.
